


The Last Half Hour of Charlie Charles's Life.

by KimberlyAlexis



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Baby Watson exists but like isn't a bother, First Kiss, Gallows Humor, Humor, John and Mary Break Up, M/M, Mentions of Mummy Holmes - Freeform, Poisoning, Post-Episode: The Abominable Bride, Post-Episode: s03e03 His Last Vow, Post-Season/Series 03, Yarn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-07-11 00:51:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7017544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KimberlyAlexis/pseuds/KimberlyAlexis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A man shows up to John's office and asks John to save his life. And John could do just that if only Sherlock would answer his damn phone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Last Half Hour of Charlie Charles's Life.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WendyBird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WendyBird/gifts).



> A friend sent me a youtube video about the worst set-up ever and another friend commented about how Sherlock would be if his mum set him and up and this happened. I'm know it's obvious that Charlie is just a British version of Billy Eichner and I don't care. I love Billy and totally enjoyed stealing his personality for Charlie.

 

~~~Three months ago~~~

 

John Watson paused at his door. _One, two, three._ He took deep, calming breaths. _One, two, three_ . And another set before finally turning the handle and entering. Once inside he felt it Immediately. The tension that waited unabated. His shoulders hunched as he dropped his backpack and took off his coat. His brow furrowed. _God._ With a clench of his hand, and a firm nod he journeyed further inside the house to seek out Mary. After all this was what he chose and he couldn't, wouldn't leave. Anna was only six months old. What kind of man would he be to--no, just no. He walked on, reminding himself of his duty.

 

_“Because you chose her.”_

 

He climbed the stairs willing the night to end quickly, quietly, without incident. Not that they'd been fighting much lately, they hadn't. That'd subsided.  Now they just orbited each other, avoiding the inevitable.

 

When he found Mary giving a feeding in the baby's room, he smiled. Their little girl was a marvel. Her little nose, which he had to admit, was just like his mother's was scrunched up. Her eyes, just like Mary’s, were closed. A look of serenity on her face. And hr, he loved her with all his heart.

 

Mary held Anna close, arm cradling her just so. John leaned down to give the baby a kiss, brushed his lips over her soft willowy hair. She gurgled in response. He, in turn, gave a quiet laugh, smiled at her, then stood.

 

Mary said nothing. She simply started to rock Anna to sleep.

 

“So,” Mary said, keeping her voice low. “When do you want to talk?”

 

“Mary, Not ton-”

 

“We’ve been putting it off.” She said firmly, stopping him from trying to do just that. She knew him well, or at least, John thought, well enough. “I know you’ll try to argue because I know you.  You’re honorable like that.” She smiled. “You’ll want to fight for what you think is right. For Anna. But just think about this, John. You didn’t even consider kissing me hello did you?”

 

John let out a breath, turned his head away from the accusation, away from Mary.  She was right. The thought to kiss her never crossed his mind.  

 

“Okay,” John said. “Okay. Let’s talk.”

 

In the end the decision was already made. So John packed his army duffle with clothes that were already folded, a small box of keepsakes that he never unpacked, and his gun.

 

It was natural to go back to Baker street. He didn’t care what people thought or even how he chided himself. It made sense. He needed to keep expenses low now that he had a child. He’d learned to set boundaries to ensure he kept his clinic hours unaffected. And he could also use any additional fees their cases generated.

 

This would be good, John thought as he put the last of his books on the shelf and gave a glance around 221B. Clinic, cases, and-- his eyes landed on a silent, mind-palace transfixed Sherlock.  A smile spread across John’s  face. He was home.

 

~~Now~~

 

Today wasn’t a case day.  Today was a clinic day and he’d had a full roster of boring patients all day.  He half-listened to most of them describe obvious symptoms with obvious diagnoses. He prescribed the obvious medicines and treatments.  And he ignored Sherlock’s texts by keeping his phone secure in a drawer. He’d made Sherlock understand the rule that if it were truly important  he’d need to call his office phone.  He even programmed the number into his mobile. So yes there were 23...wait... _ping!_...24 texts since that morning but that didn’t worry John. It just meant Sherlock was bored.

 

“Doctor Watson?” Jeannie, the new receptionist, called him on the intercom.

 

John pressed the button to speak. “Yep. We have our next patient?”

 

“Yes, and I think it’s your last today. Hooray!” Jeannie was definitely the kind of person who cheered on the small things in life. John found it charming , but he didn’t quite share her enthusiasm most days. Especially now when he was more than ready for the day to be over. He looked over at the clock. He was absolutely positive that next half hour was going to drag.

 

“Hooray,” John said with the most enthusiasm he could muster, which was none. He finished writing  a prescription update on Mrs. Ambley’s chart and placed it on a stack. Then picked up the stethoscope, hung it around his neck, and walked to his office door. He was about to open it when the intercom buzzed again.

 

“Oh ooo Doctor Watson. It’s your flatmate ringing up.”

 

John walked back, pressed the intercom’s button. “Send him throu-”

 

“Oh wait his line stopped blinking.” Jeannie paused. “Yep. He’s gone. Hmm. Want me to ring him back?”

 

John thought for a second. Sherlock calling  meant something was up, but he hung up so definitely not urgent. Still there were the 23 texts. Should he check in?  If he had to cancel on one patient for an interesting case John’d still be able to say he was following his rules.

 

Mostly John tried to maintain a boundary with Sherlock for many reasons. For one because once you gave in to Sherlock then you’d find yourself not just answering your mobile at work, but  twenty minutes later you’d be wading through a marsh with blue paint on your face waiting for Sherlock to explain just exactly why the face painting was vital to getting the clown’s confession.  

But also because whatever it was they were doing, they still hadn’t bloody figured it out.

 

Sherlock died, came back to life. John got married, had a child, and moved back. And they’d still not had the conversation. John wasn’t an idiot. He knew there was something there between them. He knew he got ridiculously, obviously jealous whenever someone was in Sherlock’s orbit. And he was sure Sherlock felt something as well. But what he felt? John didn’t quite know.

 

John heaved a sigh.

  


“Yes, call him back. Ask him if it’s important. I’ll just be in to see our last patient. If it’s important interrupt me.”

 

“Right-o,” Jeannie said.

 

John opened the door walked the few steps over, gave a quick knock, and entered while picking up the chart on the door.

 

“And you are Mr. Charles. Is that right?”

 

“Yes, hi.” The man said. “I mean. I’m Charlie if you don’t mind. At least I am for another few hours.” The man glanced at his phone held in his hand. “Or minutes. God.” He brought his free hand to his mouth and started nervously chewing on his nails. “Anyway the answer is yes. That’s me.”

John looked down at the paper work. At the patient’s surname and first name. “Charles Charles?” John said it with a smile that he quickly tried to suppress.

 

”Please don’t poke fun. I can’t stand the jokes on a good day and after the day I just had, am having... I’ll lose my last bit of patience.”

 

“Sorry,” John said clearing his throat. “I understand.”

 

The man lifted one eyebrow which said everything. John was pretty sure that everything included the phrases “sod off” and “I don’t think so.”

 

“No really.” John laughed. “Maybe not as bad, but I have a horrible middle name. I loathe it. I even tried to keep it off my--” John stopped himself. He didn’t want to bring up the wedding, not because it still aches, but it often leads to polite questions about the wife he no longer has. And polite, boring conversation isn’t something he could take on the top of a day of boring patients. He cleared his throat and gave a smile. “Anyway I won’t be poking fun at your name. So, Charlie, what brought you here today?”

 

Charlie took a breath. “’I’ve been poisoned.”

 

“What?” John said. His eyes flew open. “You should be in hospital then, not your local--”

 

“That’s the thing,” Charlie said. “I went there and they said I was fine, but they’re wrong. I’m sure  I was poisoned and I’m dying. And I don’t know is there anything such as a delayed poison or something?” Charlie finished his question with a wave of his hand. As if John could find the answer in the air.

 

John smiled in response. Even if it turned out Charlie was insane, at least it’s something to make the day end interestingly.

 

“There are,” John said. “But why are you so sure you’ve been poisoned when the hospital thinks otherwise?” John gave a thought and hoped he asked the question in the right way. He did a psych rotation , of course, but  he didn't remember much. He _was_ fairly sure that immediately telling someone they’re wrong wouldn’t help matters. He wouldn’t point out that Charlie was likely wrong. Not until he’s heard him out.

 

“Well,” Charlie paused. He looked John up and down. John had the feeling he was being sized up, checking to see if he could be trusted. John sat back and waited. Nothing he could do in this circumstance to help that. Finally Charlie rolled his eyes ending the movement with a nervous flutter of his eyelashes, and blew out a breath. “Okay. I have to give you the whole story for you to understand. Alright?”

 

“Okay,” John said. “Go on.”

 

“So I’m gay,” Charlie said. “And my mom is a saint and I love her. And apparently she had a really rough time with childbirth. And I’ll never live down what my big head did. Right?”

 

“Right,” John said. Mostly because he had no idea what else to say or where this story was going.

 

“So she calls me up the other day. And I should have ignored it, but I didn’t because you can only avoid family for so long before you’re like ugh if they die I’m gonna feel like a double shit. She starts asking me about my ex, Nick, that she liked so much and I’m like not again mum. So she tells me if that’s truly over then she has a friend who has a son. And he’s gay. And apparently painfully shy.”

 

“Alright.” John said.

 

“And so my mom says she really owes her friend because her friend helped save her life. And I didn’t ask what that meant because it’s probably something like she ran out of yarn or something and the friend gave her a ball of it or whatever. Anyway she was adamant she owed her friend and the only thing she could offer in return was me.”

 

John eyes popped at that.

 

“I know right?” Charlie continued.  “My own mother prostituting me out for a ball of yarn!”

 

John couldn’t help it. He laughed. Charlie gave a laugh too. He liked Charlie. If the man wasn’t insane, he’d be happy he stopped by today. “So,” John said. “What happened?”

 

“Well I wasn’t going to go, but she’s a mom and you know how moms can be.” John nodded. “So I go. She texts me the address because apparently not only is he shy, but he’s the one gay man who isn’t on any social media. And trust me if he was I would’ve found it. I googled his name in every possible way. The only thing I found was some long-dead footballers and a c-list actor.”

 

John eyebrows furrowed as he thought. If he had to date again, if he couldn’t figure out this thing with Sherlock, if there was nothing to figure out because Sherlock didn’t want a romantic relationship, then dating was going to be very scary this time around.  On top of being a divorced dad with a mad flatmate he’d have to contend with people googling his name.  He rubbed his forehead. He wondered if calling in a favor to Mycroft to get his name erased off the internet was worth the trouble or even possible. Mary might be able to do it. But if she figured out the reason. Hmm. The divorce had been amicable. The custody agreement was simple. But this might be a bit much to ask.

 

“Anyway,” Charlie continued, bringing John back to the present. “So I get the address and she gives me a time to go see him. I’m thinking okay I’m going to be murdered for sure. I’m about to call it off when she she sends me a photo of him and alright I’m not shallow, per se, but he was hot. And I promise this all is a part of it.”

 

“That’s okay,” John said. “Go on.”

 

“Well he’s tall,  beautiful head of hair, gorgeous smile, or okay he wasn’t smiling in the photo, but I could imagine. Ya know? So I go over there to see him earlier today.  A breakfast date sounds insane, but also I’m thinking if it’s bad then it’s over early.  If it’s good then we get all day to get to know each other. Smart right?”

 

“Yeah that’s uh-” John said. “Go on.” He didn’t tell him that the whole thing sounded insane, because who was John to judge. Still he couldn’t imagine a worse set up.

 

“So I go over. Adorable older lady answers the door. At first I’m thinking grandma but then she asks if he’s expecting me or if I’ve just found him on the website. And I’m like Ohhhhh. I’m starting to get it then. It clicks. He’s not painfully shy. He’s a rent boy or escort. And I’m betting he just plays up the painfully shy thing to his mum. So of course I can’t find anything with his name because he has to keep the mystery up. He probably has a different name for clients. After all William is kind of’ a blah name. If I was paying for it I’d want someone with an interesting name.”

 

“Sounds reasonable.” Wait, John thought. Is he discussing prostitute preferences?

 

“So I get kinda’ excited at this point. Not because I wanted to pay for it, just because if he did have people paying for it then how hot is this going to be? After all we’re meeting at his place so I’m thinking very, very hot.”

 

John cleared his throat at that, hoping Charlie would understand.

 

“Oh, sorry, but trust me it is NOT going there. So she says I can go up. I knock. I’m excited. And then.” Charlie paused. He closed his eyes and shook his head as if he was reliving it, opened them again.

 

“And?” John prompted him.

 

“And he literally answers the door with a human skull in his hand.”

 

“A skull?” John asked.

 

“A LITERAL SKULL IN HIS HANDS!” Charlie said. “So obviously this is the time I should get off the crazy train and head on home, but all I could hear in my head was my mum reminding me about the 38 hours it took for me to be come out and and then the 42 different glitter shirts she hand-sewed for my friends when I came out again at my 12th birthday party. So I was like fine mum I guess I can be a little murdered for you.  So he invites me in and says to have a seat. I go to sit down and he’s like ‘NO YOU CAN’T SIT IN THAT CHAIR!’ He screams it at me while holding a skull in his hand. And yet I’m the crazy person. And okay I guess I am because I decide to stay. I tell him I’ll stand. He says he’s still busy composing music so I could stand and listen to him finish up.”

 

“Composing?” John asked. It couldn’t be, but still he had to ask.

 

“Yes. The most melodramatic pieces I’ve ever heard. He stood at that window with his violin looking down at the street like his puppy died on the pavement. I mean it was well played music, but I could only take so much.”

 

Violin? Skull? Dating? No, John thought, Absolutely not.

 

“So I decided to give myself a little tour while he completely ignored me. I mean I asked him if I could have something to drink and he said nothing so I took that as a sure.  I went to the fridge and there were fingers. HUMAN FINGERS in the refrigerator.”

 

“Oh God!” John exclaimed. It had to be him.

 

“I know! So I scream like a normal person would. I turn around and he’s stood there and he says it’s just an experiment.”

 

“Oh God,” John said again. He couldn’t say anything else. He put a hand on his forehead, moved the thumb to rub at one temple. What in the hell was Sherlock up to?

 

“I know! So I’m like time to get the hell out of there. Sorry about the labour pains, mum.I just can’t do this. But as I reached the door he asked me to stop. He lowers the violin and begins walking slowly towards me.  He walks up to me and I’m just transfixed. I can’t move a muscle. In that moment he looked so sweet, so kind, so amazing. I don’t know how he does it but he went from like a psychopath to a kind-hearted looking, devastatingly sexy man in seconds. So he has me rooted to the spot as he walks towards me. His eyes are gorgeous. They’re like a blue-green thing. Like it’s so beautiful. The colour of his eyes.  I know there’s a name for it but I can’t remember the name. It’s called um, um--”

 

“Verdigris,” John offered absentmindedly. His thumb still working furiously to soothe his quickly-growing headache.

 

“Yep. That’s it,” Charlie said. “So he’s coming towards me and I’m not moving.  And he gets close, so close and I’m sure he’s going to kiss me and even though a minute ago I was thinking he’s absolutely mad, I can’t turn away. I need to kiss this man who is looking at me like nothing else matters in the world.  So he gets close to me and his lips are so, so close to mine. And, and--”

 

“What?” John nearly shouted.

 

“He stops. He sniffs me and says.” Charlie straightened up and affected a posh accent. “You’ve been poisoned. You’ve about 10 hours to live. Go straight to the hospital--Barts. They won’t run the right tests unless you ask for a Dr. Mike Stamford.”

 

“But,” John said. “Mike’s out of town.”

 

Charlie gave a nod to John’s statement and continued. “Well at first I thought this man is insane anyway so I ignored him with a roll of my eyes. Then as I reached for the door he stands back and just tells me everything about me. Everything that I’ve eaten in the past twenty-four hours, including the chocolates I keep hidden in the bottom drawer at work. He also told me that I always use my right hand instead of my left for um, you know. And  I do. Which is weird since I write with my left but you know I like to-”

 

“I don’t think I need to--”

 

“Right, right. Sorry. So he knew all that including some private things I don’t think I need to share.”

 

John tried not to laugh. He now knew which hand the man masturbated with, but that wasn’t too private to not share. In the end he laughed and valiantly covered it with a cough.

 

“Anyway.” Charlie continued. “I go to see this Mike Stamford at Barts and they say he’s out of town and I don’t feel sick, but he knew so much so I tell them I am _positive_ I’ve been poisoned so please run all the tests. They do run tests but everything comes back clean. So they release me. Apparently me just saying I’m sure I’ve been poisoned isn’t enough to keep me there and I’m shoved out the door. This was at 8 am and William said I had something that would kick in around ten hours later. So I spent the whole day trying to find someone to help or to find Mike Stamford. Finally I find a lovely , young woman who said you trained with Mike so if Mike would know what to look for then you would. I called and you had an opening in ten minutes. And just...Doctor Watson please save my life.”

 

John’s mouth hung open. He didn’t know what to say to the man. But he did know what to do.

 

“Okay Charlie. Just sit right there.”

 

“Less than an hour to go until I die. PLEASE!” Charlie sprung forward, grabbed John’s forearm. “HELP ME. I am too beautiful and amazing to die.” Charlie gave a weak smile to punctuate his words. John knew bravado in the face of danger when he saw it.

 

John gave Charlie a squeeze with his free hand and a firm nod. “Just give me a second.”

 

“Okay,” Charlie said and eased his grip.

 

John opened the door and went to the front desk. Jeannie was sitting there jamming out to some music and typing  Charlie’s new patient information into the office database.

 

“Jeannie,” John said startling her.

 

“Oh Doctor Watson. Done already?”

  


“No, did you get my flatmate on the phone?”

 

She shook her head. “Nope. Tried calling him right back but it went to voicemail. Sorry.” She tilted her head to side. “Everything okay?”

 

“Keep trying. Ignore the records for later. I’ll do them if need be. Our patient’s been poisoned.”

 

Jeanie's face flushed with alarm. “What?! Are we sending him to A & E?”

 

“No time,” John said while walking to his office. Once inside he went to his desk drawer and opened it to find his phone filled with 36 messages (must’ve missed some between patients). He ignored them and called Sherlock. Of course it went to voicemail. Of course.

 

“Sherlock, bloody call me back. Charlie...your um--” John cleared his throat and hated himself for it. It felt weird to say and his mind was still focused on two facts 1) A man was about to expire mere steps from him and 2 )Sherlock had accepted a bloody date with him. Was it for a case? Of course it was a case, he decided. He soldiered on. “Your date is here. Mike’s out of town and I bet he wouldn't even know what to test him for because I’m staring at the man and I’ve no idea what’s wrong with him. Tell me what to do, Sherlock. Call me back.”

 

John pressed end on the call and pulled up his text messages and typed everything he’d just said on voicemail in text. He saved the long pause in which he tried to come to terms that Sherlock was dating though. He scrolled back through Sherlock’s messages just in case it could help. Just like he’d thought, Sherlock was bored throughout the day and he’d sent John many messages attesting to that fact. He never mentioned a date, never mentioned telling the man he’d been poisoned. In fact the closest thing involving this was a text which said if John speaks to Stamford to tell him thank you for handling the patient for him.

 

“Dammit Sherlock!” John said and pressed redial. Again it rang through to Sherlock’s voicemail. John didn’t leave another message but he turned on the ringer and pocketed his phone. He left his office, walking to Jeannie’s front desk. “Anything?”

 

“Nothing,” she said. “He isn’t answering. Oh God Doctor Watson. Is that poor man going to die? He was ever so nice when he was making the appointment.  Apologised for the late notice. So charming, polite. He-he….we can’t let hi-”  Jeannie covered her mouth. John could see the tears forming in her eyes.

 

“He’s going to be fine, Jeannie,” John assured her then walked on. “Just got to get bloody Sherlock on the line.” He turned back before he opened the patient room. “Keep at it. It’ll be fine. Just keep dialling okay?”

 

Jeannie nodded her head furiously to answer. “Okay.” She let out a broken sob.

 

“God,” John said then took a deep breath. Charlie didn’t need tears and stress right now. He needed calm.  When John opened the door he found Charlie looking down at his phone.  Pictures of Charlie and another man scrolled by as Charlie swiped through them quickly.  Charlie looked up.

 

“Who’ll take care of my mum?” He asked

 

“You’ll be fine,” Charlie. They were right. I trained with Mike and I’m sure I can figure it out.”

 

“In,” Charlie looked down at his phone, swiped the screen, and turned the phone around to show John a timer counting down. “28 minutes?” Charlie shook his head. “I don’t even know what I’m doing here. I should be with family or, or with….SHIT!” Charlie shouted. “This is really happening isn’t it? I’m dying and I never told bloody Nick that I was sorry about everything and that I’d really like to try again. He’s, he’s who I always knew I’d wind up with and now I won’t get to-to--”

 

John rushed forward. He hugged Charlie. “Shhh shh it’s fine. I’m working on it.” John gave him a tight squeeze.“Did Sher--Did William say anything else?”

 

John felt Charlie’s head shake back and forth.  John kept hugging him. If this was really all he could do for him now then he would, but Charlie pulled back, released the grip.

 

“I tried to go back there but no one answered the door. I bang and banged until a neighbor, Mrs. Turner, came out to say that no one was in at the moment. I didn’t have his number to call and I just. I suppose it doesn’t matter.” Charlie looked down at the timer ticking away. He took a breath then looked up at John. He gave a weak smile and shook himself. “Do you mind if I have the room? I think it’s time I made a few calls.”

 

“Of course, of course,” John said. He gave another squeeze to Charlie’s shoulders then left the room and left him do it.

 

He came out, checked his phone. Nothing.  He lifted his eyes to find Jeannie still clicking redial, a look of sheer terror on his face. John gave her a tight smile and walked past his office, past her desk, and then outside. He looked around. A cab in rush hour would take him about 40 minutes. Way past Charlie’s timer. A tube would be doubly worse. Even if he had a helicopter at the ready he wasn’t sure he’d have enough time. No, the only thing was to get Sherlock on the phone.  If he wasn’t answering John’s calls then it could be he’s on a case. John called Greg.

 

“John, what can I do you for?” Greg answered. “And please don’t say you’re calling because I told Sherlock no more cases until he’s learned to be nice.”

 

“Oh,” John said. “So he’s not with you.”

 

“Has he learned to play nice?” Greg asked. John huffed out a laugh. There was too much to get into right now so he’d leave sit at that.

 

“Not since I last saw him.” Then again, John thought, last time he saw Sherlock he wasn’t accepting gentlemen callers. “If you see him can you tell him to call?”

 

“Anything I can do?” Greg asked.

 

John shook his head then stopped himself. “No,” he said. “But maybe later.” John thought grimly to himself. He might need the DI to come to a crime scene if Charlie dies. “Right, Later then.”

 

“Right,” Greg said and the call was over. So not on a case, not answering. John called Mycroft next, but it rang through and he had to leave a message.

 

He wanted to check on Charlie, but the man deserved his privacy. He tried to think. If Sherlock was saying Mike could figure it out then surely John might be able to think the same way. What was Mike’s speciality? Same as John really. But no, John thought, what if it was some special case they’d worked on before John met Sherlock. Or something they discussed while John was busy with Anna? _Fuck, Fuck, Fuck._

 

The man was going to die and John couldn’t stop it. He started to breathe heavy as he thought of Charlie’s eyes filled with tears as he talked about never telling this Nick man that he’d wanted to try again. John knew that feeling. He wanted to give Charlie a second chance. The chance John never got or realized or whatever you want to call it.

 

John walked back inside and went straight to his office. Jeannie was dialing. He had to do something. He opened up the database and researched time-delayed poisons with no outward symptoms. He typed “ten-hour.” He typed in “Barts poisons.” He then googled “Sherlock Holmes” and “poison.” His own blog came up. And he was so desperate that he found himself scanning the blog entry for anything.

 

He looked down at his watch. Twenty minutes gone and not a word back from Sherlock nor Mycroft.

 

He wasn’t going to save Charlie. He stood from his desk and walked to check on the man.

 

“Jeannie, call for an ambulance. I want to get him to the A & E for anything they might be able to do once the symptoms hit.”

 

“But,” she said though he couldn’t hear anything else. His heart was thumping in his ears. John jogged back and stood outside of Charlie’s room. He remained silent trying to give him privacy. But there was a shout and then….laughing.

 

“I should hate you! But God!” Charlie said. John imagined the person on the other line was responding as the room went silent. “Okay okay I think I’m good now.”  John decided this was the best time as any to enter the room and tell Charlie that he was having him transported to hospital. He would keep trying to help him, but there was nothing he could do for him now.

 

When the door opened and he saw Charlie hugging Sherlock. John stepped back in amazement, his mouth dropped open. His eyes went wide in shock.

 

“Oh!” Charlie said. “This is him, Doctor Watson.  My worst date ever-- William.”

 

John looked from Sherlock to Charlie to the arm Charlie had around Sherlock to Sherlock’s eyes and he couldn’t say a thing.

 

“William was just explaining that he wasn’t a real date. As if I couldn’t tell that in the end. Staging the house with a skull and fake fingers. Really!”

 

“Um… what?” John said. He mentally added ‘the fuck?’

 

“Apparently,” Charlie said. “I was the favor, not the other way around. My mum had been talking to my mum about how I was too damn prideful to call Nick up and tell him I still loved him. So her and Willy’s mum here.--” John looked over at Sherlock when Charlie called him that. Sherlock just shrugged and said nothing. “Well they hatched a scheme. Set me up with him. Have him teach me a lesson about what’s out there so I’d call. Apparently I wasn’t shocked easily so he made up the poisoning.”

 

“So,” John finally spoke and looked from Sherlock to confirm. “Not poisoned?” Sherlock again remained quiet but offered another shrug.

 

“No,” Charlie said. And he laughed. “This awful bitch here just told me that to get me going. He called up his friend Mike and told him to keep me in hospital until he saw me making the appropriate phone calls.

 

“But Mike…”

 

“Yep. He found out way too late that Mike was gone when he got a frantic phone call from my mother saying I hadn’t checked in and he traced my steps and found me here. God I want to slap him. But...it worked. I called up Nick and, and we’re...we’re meeting up. I’m going to tell him.” Charlie hugged Sherlock again and looked up at him like he was amazing. John knew that look. He _lived_ that look. “He’s amazing isn’t he?”

 

John smiled. “He is.”

  


Charlie let go of Sherlock and gave John’s hand a firm shake. “Thank you for everything. I’ve got to go. Got a big date.” Charlie gave them both a big smile and left the room.

 

John looked to Sherlock. Sherlock said nothing.

 

“So matchmaker now is it?”

 

“My mother owed his a favor. Something about emergency yarn or some such,” Sherlock said. “I stopped listening after a few minutes." He gave a wave of his hand, dismissing the helpful act beforehand. "I merely carried out their plan.”

 

“Poison?” John said the sole word. It asked more than enough.

 

“Well I improved their plan and carried it out.” Sherlock shrugged. “It worked.”

 

John shook his head laughing. God. This man. “You drove me mad with worry. I called you. Jeannie called you. Oh God Jeannie.”

 

John ducked out to see her crying. “Oh God, he just gave up, he just gave up and walked out.”

 

“False alarm, Jeannie. He's fine!” John shouted then walked back in the room with Sherlock and closed the door.

 

“What?!” He heard from beyond the door.

 

John looked at Sherlock, waited. Was there more to the story?

 

“So,” Sherlock said. “I assume you’re finished with your boring day.”

 

“Well,” John said. “Not so boring in the end.”

 

“You’re welcome.” Sherlock brushed past Sherlock and strode to the door.

 

“Wait,” John said. “Look Sherlock. Um Charlie got me thinking. And um." John gulped.

 

Sherlock turned around. He seemed rooted to the spot as John spoke. “Yes?”

 

“Well. There was the thing with him and Nick. He never got the chance to say and, and I don’t want to almost die before saying. So...um. Yeah. I’m saying.”

 

Sherlock closed his eyes, blew out a breath. His voice was hushed, a barely there whisper. “What are you saying?”

 

John didn’t know how else to say it. He took two giant steps forward and slotted his mouth over Sherlock’s. Sherlock whimpered then responded by kissing John back as if he’d waited for this kiss his entire life, chasing after John's lips with bruising force.

 

John pulled back, gasped for breath. “That.”

 

Sherlock took another kiss then smiled. “Oh thank God."

 

“What?” John said. “Didn’t think we’d ever get here?”

 

“Well that,” Sherlock said. “And I really didn’t want to convince you that you were poisoned.”

 

John laughed and kissed Sherlock again. “Only got the one move then?”

 

"Oh." Sherlock reached back and clicked the lock on the door. He sank to his knees. “ Just a few more than that.”

  


**The end.**


End file.
